


Explanations

by NorroenDyrd



Series: Blossom in my Hands [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Artistic Liberties, Battle Couple, Body Image, Dragon Age Quest: Explanations, F/M, Fade to Black, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Misunderstandings, Orlais Bashing, Period-Typical Racism, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 08:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12931440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: Naali Adaar is very self-conscious about her appearance, having been raised among humans and therefore judged by their beauty standards. So when Blackwall tries to push her away, she assumes it is because he does not want a relationship with a hideous ox woman.





	Explanations

Their journey from the Storm Coast back to Skyhold is one of the most oppressive, tension-filled ordeals that Naali ever had to endure. Worse even than that awkward silence at the dinner table - still in Haven, when she was not 'Lady Adaar, the mighty Inquisitor' but still 'that oxwoman some call the Herald' - which followed after some visiting Orlesian merchant rounded his eyes to popping point at the sight of Naali assaulting a particularly stringy bit of druffalo meat with a knife and fork, and said to Josephine,

 

'My goodness, Ambassador, I thought you would be feeding the horned thing from a bowl on the floor!'

 

Back then, Josephine's face went the same colour than the purple velvet vest the man was wearing, and the silence that followed was awfully dense, almost tangible - and way harder to cut than that stubborn meat. But Naali could deal with that. And she did, eventually: after stewing in her seat for a while, she leaned forward, her large grey hands gripping at the opposite edge of the table, and blurted out, with her usual rude frankness,

 

'Just because you are into doing pet play, Messere Whatsit, doesn't mean everyone else is'.

 

This made the hapless goof choke on his helping so hard that garnish came streaming out of his nostrils; seeing him writhe, his arms suddenly looking boneless and ribbon-like, Enchanter Vivienne, who was sitting next to him, patted him graciously on the back (with the tips of her impeccably manicured nails just barely touching him), and said with a pleasant smile,

 

'Do not fret, my dear; I am certain that some members of the court will be perfectly understanding once I inform them that you are aroused by acting like a Fereldan hound'.

 

That had to be one of those rare, once-in-blue-moons occasions when something that came out of Vivienne's mouth received an approving hoot from Sera (confined to the furthest end of the table lest her table manners scar the guests for life). This sound, loud and prolonged to the utmost, until the flailing, fidgeting elf went hoarse, brought that wretched dinner to a proper conclusion.

 

So yes. Naali and her friends definitely dealt with that quite nicely. She has always been able to deal with being compared to an animal, with being gawked and pointed at, with being reminded just how hideous she is in the humans' eyes. This, however... She has no idea how to deal with this.

 

Kicking off her tall boots, which are still wet on the inside and caked over with white briny residue on the outside, Naali drags her feet across the stretch of the floor from her quarters' entrance to the fireplace, and sinks heavily into the tall armchair Josephine has procured for her - with fur pelts lining the back for extra warmth, and these tiny wheels attached to the bottom, for dramatic swivelling when someone enters the room... Not that she is in the mood for that.

 

On different days, on better days, it is quite amusing to watch some human petitioner almost lose his pants with shock when the armchair turns, and he suddenly beholds the broad grey face of an oxwoman peering down at him. Sort of like payback for years' worth of insults (and some beatings too, when she was still small enough to be picked on) by the Marcher villagers whom she grew up among, and who just could not forgive her for not being human-ey enough and dainty enough and pink enough.

 

But now, she is not in the mood for amusement. Now, she would very much prefer for the floor to dissolve into nothing, like it does in the Fade while Solas looks on all starry-eyed, and swallow her up, chair and all.

 

Andraste's braided armpits, how could she have been so stupid?! How could she have gotten into her head - which apparently is not good for anything but carrying horns - that if she flirted with the man, something would actually come out of it?! How could she have bought into encouraging pep talks from Bull, of all people?!

 

'Hey boss,' she whispers to herself viciously, squaring her shoulders and shrinking her neck in, to mimic Bull's brawny built, 'Hey boss, that Warden fella has the hots for you! You gonna so something about it?'

 

And now - now, what feels like some centuries too late! - she also recalls Bull adding that, to his eye, the Warden looked like the type to know the meaning of 'no'.

 

'So if you are bothered by him, just say so and he'll back off, I think,' he mused, taking another sip of his drink. 'No guilting you with blue balls there. And hey, even if I misjudged him, you can always come find me so we beat him up together'.

 

She guesses she should have taken the second option. She should have... Should have lied. Should have told Blackwall she wanted nothing to do with him, and walk away just like any other time she would fall for a handsome human. Quietly hurt, like she'd swallowed a dozen daggers but still had to walk upright with them lodged in her innards - but still in far less agony than if she pushed things long enough for the human to flee from her ugly mug. Like it happened today.

 

Yes, that is absolutely the real reason why Blackwall - terrified of her advances, no doubt - took her out to the Storm Coast to look for his long-lost badge; and when they found it, babbled awkwardly about not wanting to subject her to the anguish of being with a man who might disappear at any moment to fight darkspawn, and never come back.

 

He was lying, of course. She could see it in the way his eyes widened and shifted, and the way his boots kneaded at the greenish mix of mud and grass underfoot, and the way he kept rubbing at his face, far more vigorously than was necessary to dry off the droplets of drizzle. She could hear it in the quiver of his voice - and in the very excuses he tried to come up with... To try and be gentlemanly, as he always does - or maybe to save himself from her wrath?

 

'This was my life before I met you,' he told her emphatically, pointing at the rotting, sickly grey darkspawn corpses scattered on the hilltop among human bones, the soil under their twisted limbs having turned cracked and bare and hardened, not even drinking in the rain.

 

But that would never have been a problem for her - and he had to know it. This was her life too - fighting monsters, pushing back encroaching waves of desolation, protecting the weak.

 

Even when she was still a child, with long bony limbs and a huge round head weighed down by a pair of horn stubs, she would go out of her way to shield the other kids who, like her, may have been declared outcasts, freaks, pariahs in the cruel world of children who learn early on from their parents that those not like you need to be punished. She took them all under her wing: the scared teenager who would curl up motionless on the floor when the loud noises got too overwhelming; the girl who walked with a limp, one of her legs being shorter from birth; the shy, pointy-faced twins whose father was an elf; the twitchy little boy whose big sister had been taken to the Circle, forever casting a shadow over his whole family. She looked out for them, and others like them - those shunned and mocked and ignored when they needed help most - even though no-one would thank her for it. Even though, for all her attempts to help, she would always be known as 'the horned savage'. And then, suddenly, when she joined the Inquisition, she found... friends, she supposes, as Sera would call it. She found people who did thank her, who did appreciate her, who maybe even admired her, giving her enthusiastic nods of approval when she cheerfully dumped fat chunks of mutton into an elven hunter's stew cauldron, or showered some shivering refugee children with supplies that her team had taken from a camp of some crazed apostate mages (the poor buggers had been driven into such a frenzy by the never-ending war with the templars that they had made the fatal mistake of trying to set Cassandra Pentaghast on fire), or used the weird bit of magic in her hand to stitch up the ruptured Veil and keep it from bleeding hissing, snarling, long-clawed demons out into the countryside.

 

And out of those admirers, Warden Blackwall seemed like the keenest. There was no better feeling for Naali than to look back in the midst of tending the the wounded, and see him smiling at her, a sort of quiet glow lighting up his rugged bearded face from within. Or to give his hand a firm shake, after banishing a horde of otherworldly creatures side by side with him, merged in a single, unstoppable whole, with his blade sweeps and shield bashes complementing her volleys of arrows without a single moment of pause of hesitation. Or to allow herself that brief indulgence in warm, cozy proximity, as they would sit side by side in the dream-like golden circle of the campfire, and chuckle at whatever wild tale their companions were spinning.

 

Naali frowns and shakes her head, rubbing her temples. It's as if all of her past bitter hangovers have taught her nothing. If you don't go easy on your indulgences, you inevitably end up doing something crazy, and hating yourself for it. Which is precisely what happened today.

 

She has let Blackwall's friendliness, and Bull's blasted pep talks, go to her head - and downright blurted out that she'd like the Warden, the loyal Warden, the chivalrous Warden, the so very handsome Warden, who could not even chop wood in her general vicinity without her growing all hot and woozy, to be her lover. And not a one-night, you-must-be-curious-what-it-feels-like-to-fuck-a-Qunari lover either. The kind of lover that Cassandra's books describe (not that the two of them read those late into the night, giggling and stuffing their faces and shoving each other in the ribs... But, um, not all of Skyhold's candy and wine disappearances are to be blamed on Sera, Josephine and Dorian).

 

She told him that she wanted him by her side, in the battlefield and in her bed and in each of her favourite corners of Skyhold. That she wanted them to do the whole picnic and moonlit walk and shoulder to cry on thing. That she wanted to, once again, feel that ticklish flutter in her chest, like at that moment when the bratty little Avvar chieftain almost overwhelmed her during their 'duel in the name of the gods', and Blackwall nearly screamed his head off, carving his way to her through rows upon rows of painted muddy tribesmen... And then, when he finally got to her and helped her pull herself to her feet, gave her a long, tight hug.

 

And, of course, all of this terrified him. Because, even if he may have had some 'hots' for her (most pink folk begin to drool a little when they imagine what someone her or Bull's size can do in the bedroom), he can't have wished for a stable relationship with her. Because that is the role for a human woman, with a round pink face and soft hands and a head that does not get stuck in doorways. Because the likes of her are only ever good as battle backup, or a single, unrepeatable sexual experiment. Because once a Qunari smashes your enemies and satisfies your kinky curiosity, you remember just how alien she is. How repulsive. With her grey skin and jutting cheekbones and massive jaw and long horns.

 

This terrified him, and embarrassed him, and drove him away from her, spluttering all that drivel about it not being possible to be together because of his  tough Warden life.

 

Maker, why didn't she keep her stupid daydreams to herself? And how will she ever deal with this?

 

Wait. She might know how.

 

 Naali straightens up in her chair, swallows loudly - and then gets up and shuffles to the door, still barefoot, looking straight ahead, her face blank like a sleepwalker's.

 

She will seek him out, wherever he has gone off to, to 'gather his thoughts' - and apologize to him. For overestimating her own importance. For daring to assume that a lumbering ox-thing like her could ever be with a gorgeous man like him. For...

 

'My lady!'

 

Naali has barely taken a step out of her quarters, when she bumped straight into the poor Warden, the impact almost knocking him back and sending him into a painful roll down the stairs. Her instincts kicking in before her shame, she has gripped him by the shoulder to keep him from falling, and has now found herself in a very dubious position, with the Warden's body being pulled close to hers.

 

And as though that alone is not enough, the collar of Blackwall's vest has skewed a little, revealing a sliver of his broad, hairy chest. Damn, maybe he will still agree... To stay with her for just one night? No, that would be too humiliating.

 

'You... Me... Er...' she mumbles incoherently, her voice hoarse and her throat so parched it almost seems to bleed on the inside.

 

'I... I wanted to see you,' Blackwall mouths weakly, while his hand travels to Naali's fingers on his shoulder and his eyes gaze into hers. Wide open and clear, with... With no trace of fear or disgust.

 

No. She will not bite the same bait twice.

 

With a spasmodic shudder, she edges back, jerking her hand away from him.

 

'I wanted to see you too,' she manages to squeeze out of herself, breathing heavily through flaring nostrils.

 

Come on, Naali. Get this over with. No need to gape at him longer than necessary.

 

'I wanted to say... That it's all right if you think I'm... too monstrous for your tastes. I can't blame you, I really can't. No human in their right mind would... commit to an oxwoman'.

 

Blackwall freezes, his face first growing white as a sheet and then swelling up with a crimson flush.

 

'You... You really think I find you monstrous? When you are the one who... Oh, Maker's balls,' he whispers, with an unmistakable crack of hurt in his faltering voice.

 

Naali's intention is to shrug and say something like 'Eh, I've been around humans since infancy; I know their tastes' - but before she can actually brace herself to do any of that, the Warden reaches forward, pushing her into the room, and strides in after her, inexplicably appearing very tall despite his head still being somewhere at Naali's chest level.

 

'You think I hesitated... Because of your race? True, I am far beneath you... But I am not as base as that! You...'

 

He inhales deeply - and then goes on speaking without pausing for breath.

 

'You are a strong, courageous, witty, caring woman! There is boundless, priceless beauty in who you are, and what you do! Rejecting all of that does not mean someone is in their right mind - it means that they have their head so far up their arse they just don't see you!'

 

It is only at this point that he has to break off for a while, coughing into his fist - while Naali hangs her head, sensing a powerful heat tide rise from somewhere in the pit of her stomach, scorch her back, and finally erupt into a deep flush on her cheeks.

 

So... Her daydreams have won this round. Blackwall's voice is much firmer, much more fervent than on the Coast - he has to be telling the truth this time. And the next thing he says is something she could never have hoped to hear.

 

'It would be an honour to become your constant companion... To court you like you deserve... And that's why I came here. Because what you told me... It would be all of my...'

 

He smiles sheepishly into his beard.

 

'...All of my rather boyish daydreams coming true. There is no better feeling than being by your side. It's just that...'

 

His face falls - and his voice falters once more, the cracks growing deeper, more jagged with every word.

 

'I am not worthy of this. Of you. All that the likes of me are good for is...'

 

'Oh please, the likes of you!' Naali scoffs, her tongue loosened and her face burning like she has... overindulged again. 'Whoever gave you that idea also has their head up their arse!'

 

Somewhere in the middle of that sentence, their hands meet again. Her fingers tightly entwined with the Warden's, Naali leans in till their foreheads touch. By now, Blackwall has gotten as flushed as she is, and as she shifts around to try and accommodate their height difference, she thinks she can detect the hardened bulge of his arousal.

 

'We will regret this, my lady,' he slurs weakly, his moustache tickling her lips.

 

'Oh, I have already been through regret today,' she replies, slipping one arm behind his back to support him. 'Nothing is gonna be worse than the thought of losing you'.

 

With that, she catches at his lips - and before she can properly release them, Blackwall is already kissing her back, quaking, ravenous, like all this time, he has been dragging himself through a merciless desert, without food or water.

 

It is very enjoyable, his tongue touching hers, his hands travelling over her body, while they spin across the room towards her bed. She knows that what comes next will be quite enjoyable as well, and looks forward to opening herself to his feverish touch, his moist, greedy tongue, all of his heaving, hairy body - as she knows now that their encounter will not end in humiliation.

 

But what she looks forward to even more is asking him to hold her afterwards, to cuddle with her until they drift off to sleep, to be gentle to her like no human has ever been... And hearing him say 'Yes, of course, my lady'.


End file.
